


to look this old world over

by xxcaribbean



Category: Bonanza
Genre: Bisexual Adam, Bisexuality, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean
Summary: It’s what the black represents, like a sheep standing out, or the ugly duck tap dancing around the inevitable realization that from birth it was marked. Marked so heavily, in fact, that guilt settled in right there alongside the tension, and Adam knows they don’t judge, but what if is an awfully messy game.





	

He supposes the color of the fabric they wear is closely intertwined with the deepest parts of themselves, manifested by loops and threads and uneven smudges of dirt the Nevada lands take pride in. The cloth tends to stick to sweaty skin, especially after a long day’s work. Maintaining the Ponderosa is no easy feat.

But with brief moments, he pauses, and he wonders if maybe there’s life outside of rocks and rubble, no splashes of cool water from a nearby creek to ease the heat of the day. It’s always then that he remembers his role in the grand scheme of things, not of a man, or a son, or a brother, but the itch deep down that reminds of him that the longer he travels, the longer he stays, and the longer he glances at his siblings, there’s a mark on his heart that just won’t let up.

It’s why he thinks of blue and bravery, a man with white hair who sweats dignity and respect because it had been earned rather than fought for.

Brown and white cry gentle and dependable no matter how tall and burly make people pause with worry for their life.

And then there’s green, a solid color full of warmth and determination, destined to break away from becoming a muted color of the rainbow.

But the black calls his name like a slithering snake, and Adam feels the tension in his shoulders curl in between the muscles. It settles there long enough for him to dip his head, staring at his hands gripped tight around his horse’s reins.

Because for him, it’s not just black that sets him off, and it’s not just black that leaves him burning underneath the heat of the sun. It’s what the black represents, like a sheep standing out, or the ugly duck tap dancing around the inevitable realization that from birth it was marked. Marked so heavily, in fact, that guilt settled in right there alongside the tension, and Adam knows they don’t judge, but what if is an awfully messy game.

Sort of like the game he played, calling it a white lie when Little Joe found him with another man pressed up against the barn. It hadn’t been too risqué, just a stolen kiss or two before the ranch hand moved along to complete the rest of his duties. Though, what was done was done, and Adam had taken responsibility, tried to explain what he’d done and the running dread that slowly filled his lungs until he could hardly breath.

His little brother hadn’t said a damn word, kicked the dirt with his boot and wandered off. It left Adam to crawl away, take his horse out onto the range until Hoss found him and called him back home.

Three days, that’s all it took for the two of them to sulk by their lonesome before Little Joe found him brushing down the horses for the evening. The nicker from the animal had startled until Adam laid a hand on its snout, calming him with hush whispers and a gentle smile. This trait, he figures, came from Hoss and the delicacy in which he respected the animals.

Though Joe stood there for some time, propped up against the door of the stable until his cracked voice broke through the silence.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Adam had paused, if only for a moment, before returning to his task. The silence continued to stick, like a moth to a flame because how was he to answer the question without knowing where they’d end up from here? Irreparable damage wasn’t what he was intending, even though deep down he’d felt like it was already too late to turn back the clock.

“It’s not exactly the kind of thing you talk about, Little Joe,” he’d replied. His movements slowed before casting a glance to his youngest brother. Decked in his usual attire, Joe twisted his hat in his hands, rolling the brim and unraveling it before any creases could damage the material. It wasn’t often Adam found Joe that nervous, hardheaded and a bit like a smoking gun. Shoot first and ask questions later if the situation made him heated enough, but Adam recognized the pinch in Little Joe’s brow, the tips of his hair curling and marked by sweat from taking care of the livestock earlier in the day.

“You know this don’t change nothin’, right?”

Adam had bit the inside of his cheek, clearly expecting Little Joe to have his way with words, even bring Hoss out here as the mediator before he eventually found out that the differences between all three of them didn’t have much to do with blood as it did with actions and preferences. Adam figured Hoss would be the forgiving type, first and foremost, always the bridge between him and Joe, but Adam looked on and saw the sincerity in the angle of Joe’s jaw and within the shine of his eyes.

But he asked anyway because he knows how it is out here, the differences between home and elsewhere. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly because right then, it had seemed like a gift placed into his hands, one he still doesn’t deserve.

Joe had snorted, shaken his head before pushing off the wall to stand beside Adam. “Ever since you came back, you’ve been hidin’,” he replied, earnest to the fullest degree. “But you’ve always been there, and it’s about time I do the same.”

Rather than brandishing that secret, Joe kept it safe until Adam confessed, fully expecting wrath and the flames of hell to lick his boots and swallow him whole. And he remembers the way Joe stood by his side on that night too, just before dinner when the room was tense. Adam had been fully prepared for the disappointment to be palpable, a sudden outcast with shame wrapped around the Cartwright name. For all of Adam’s accomplishments, he knew then that it could’ve been his biggest downfall, all his hard work at college and the years spent tending to the Ponderosa as if it was needy child gone wayward if not given enough attention would vanish in thin air.

But Hoss had been the first to speak, a simple shrug of his larger than life frame. “S’long as it ain’t keepin’ you from slackin’ ‘round and tended to the land, can’t say I see anythin’ wrong with ya, Adam.”

And while the thickness in his throat and the sting of tears in his eyes never completely went away after his brother’s confession, Adam had felt that small sway of relief. Two down and one to go in this big ol’ place seemed like an accomplishment, at first, but the moment of real truth might’ve backhanded him so hard had Adam been any other son, had he grown up elsewhere and not been the first born to a man who’d lost his wife too soon. The weight of Ben’s responsibility was never forgotten, and maybe that’s why Adam felt the need to be responsible and take great care in his stance because living up to his Pa would always be something he fell short of.

Yet, Ben Cartwright had always been an honest man, and Adam hadn’t known anything else. So the fear of disappointment for being the vegabond swung like a pendulum and knocked the breath right out of him when the older gentleman’s face gave way to laughter.

“Suppose I already have three sons,” he’d said, nodding at the three of em sitting around the fireplace. “Would it really hurt to add another?”

Adam had said, to be certain, that it wasn’t just the men he fancied; it’d been the women, too, and maybe that’s where the relief had come from from his family, the distinct notion that maybe it’d only be a phase. It’d be easy for Adam to hash it all out on the Ponderosa with his own free will until a bright-eyed young beauty would finally sweep him off his feet. But the tone within the house said otherwise, no looks or words of admonishment.

In that moment, Adam found that two things had occurred:

Relief bubbled within his chest like an overflowing spring ripe with an ecosystem thriving under lush conditions and spring flowers.

Unease then settled within his veins, tip toeing around the delicate line of life and death in case the day came when he’d have three sets of stormy eyes laid upon his being.

“You’re my son, Adam,” Pa finally said, breaking Adam out of his thoughts he’d dug himself into in that moment. “This is your home, and I made a promise to your mother I’d always look after you.”

Dinner wasn’t ruined, and everything clicked right into place.

But sometimes the uncertainty remains, especially in moments like these when he’s tending to the land because the black of his clothes tell another story. He chooses to wear them like a second skin, same way Hoss and Little Joe can’t escape the colors that define their personalities just so, but he wonders how much of it was a conscious thought versus subconscious. To stand out within this family, there might not be such a thing, but if Adam has to wear something as a daily reminder for his misgivings as self-punishment for thinking little of his family, he’ll do it.

“Adam,” he hears, which startles him when Little Joe rides up next to him. “You okay?”

He’s got half a mind to take his thumb and simple rub away the pinch in Joe’s brow, oddly reminding him of the six-year-old boy he’d left behind for college who couldn’t fathom living without his older brother. “Think I’m doing just fine,” he answers.

Joe hardly looks convinced, glancing over at Hoss who’s busy trying to round up an errant steer. “You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

And Adam shrugs, always calm and never flashy in his words or his movements. It feels nice to be reminded of who he is, that he himself hasn’t changed. A part of himself has been added to the mix, and easily, he grins. “I’d like to gather my thoughts before running my mouth like a chatty child, Joe.”

He pauses before nudging his horse to get a move on, and from behind him, Adam hears the inevitable shout, “Hey, what are you trying to say-”

But Adam’s off with a laugh before the sentence is finished, Joe right behind him complaining that he most certainly does not talk a lot, and that even if he did, at least he didn’t brood and act like a spoilsport.

Tough love, Adam decides, is there for a reason, and on the Ponderosa, it can only be found in the place it’s wholeheartedly necessary. Because the black will always call his name, but as long as the others are behind him, he figures maybe, just maybe he can handle it on those days when the going gets tough.


End file.
